


Confession

by deputyrook



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Choking, Cutting, F/M, Gen, Gender Not Specified, Knife Play, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 00:56:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14344602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deputyrook/pseuds/deputyrook
Summary: Rook fails to escape from the bunker before John comes back. But they don't react to his torture in the way John anticipated.





	Confession

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a response to a prompt about knife play and edging, and is decidedly not that. But there is torture and masochism and John uses one of those knives of his, so hey. 
> 
> This was super cathartic for me to write. BUT. This drabble contains explicit descriptions of cutting. DO NOT use this drabble to harm yourself psychologically. If you, at any point, feel a desire to self harm while reading this fic, or feel like it is making you feel bad, do NOT continue. Thank you!

The Deputy had _tried t_ o escape John’s bunker when he wheeled Hudson away. They’d dragged the chair over to the stairs- _ha, idiot forgot to tie their feet-_  and sent themselves hurtling to the bottom, hoping to free their hands.

The next thing Rook knew, they were back in the chair, with John standing over them, holding his knife. And  _fuck,_  did their head hurt. 

“You know, Deputy,” John chides, and he draws out the word.  _Dep-yoo-tee._ “That was really quite stupid of you. When I came back up, you were passed out at the foot of the stairs. Anyone could have come along and finished you off.” He smiles. “Thankfully I found you first, hmm?”

Rook feels a bit dizzy, a bit out of it. The world in their peripheral vision is foggy, but maybe that’s for the best, considering the room they’re in has corpses strung up from the ceiling. Everything smells of blood and of death, that sickly potent and all-too-familiar iron. They look up at John with a frown- he’s still smiling at them, almost fondly.

“After all.” He says, taking another step toward Rook, “You did say  _yes_. You agreed to confess your sins.” When he’s standing in front of them, John crouches down, until he’s eye level with Rook. He peers into their eyes, as if searching for something. “You will confess your sins to me. And I will carve them into your flesh. And I will find out why Joseph wants you to save you so badly.”

Staying in his crouched position, John begins to trail the knife along Rook’s exposed skin. Their shirt’s already been ripped open, exposing their stomach to the flat of his knife. He pauses, and pokes the point of it against their skin. Rook tries not to breathe with too much motion, to stop the skin from being pierced.

“Go on.” John murmurs, encouraging. Rook clears their throat. Their eyes dart around. 

“I’ve never been to a confession,” They say, a bit nervously. Why is the thought of confessing making them more nervous that the knife pressed to their skin? John looks eager, soeager to draw blood. 

“It’s easy.” John says, and he’s looking at their skin. _Probably planning out where he’ll cut first._ “What are you ashamed of? What’s your sin?”

The Deputy flounders for a moment, before they say, “Well… I’ve killed a lot of people since coming here. And I- I had to, you know?” John nods, slowly.

“Keep going. I’m listening.” 

“Nick said something interesting the other day.” Rook says, speaking before they can stop the words, “He said that all the fighting is hard for him, and that we weren’t made to have to fight like this. And I think he’s right.  _He_  wasn’t made to fight. But… I’m scared I’m something different.”

John is watching them, ever so calmly. Calmer than they’ve maybe ever seen him. He shifts his weight, and nods.

“You enjoy it.” He says, eyes burning. “Hurting people.”

“No.” Rook responds. “But I like feeling…” They struggle for the word. “Alive.”

John hums at that, and presses the point of the knife into their stomach. Rook gasps, and it feels as though the air is being pushed from their body. John’s cuts are neat.  **P. R**. Rook is trying not to squirm. Their skin is alight with pain, and they’re panting, watching Johns every concentrated movement. **I. D.** There’s no doubt he’s enjoying this.  **E.**  Pride. John draws the knife away from their skin, and the blood begins to surface and drip from their cuts.

“Normally, I’d tattoo the sin, and then cut it out entirely.” He explains, as though he’s teaching Rook how to put together a piece furniture. “But I have a feeling I’m going to be spending a  _lot_ of time with you" John hums, and chuckles. “I don’t want to  _kill_ you.” He touches their cuts, and Rook hisses in pain- but they can’t help it. The feeling of something else. _Something else_. Pain and something…else.

“Now, what did I say about telling me no?” John whispers, standing and wiping the knife- wiping  _Rook’s blood_  on his jeans. “Or maybe you don’t realize how much you like hurting others yourself. Maybe you were telling me the truth.” John smiles. “Would you like to hear one of my secrets, Deputy?”

“Yes.” Rook whispers, and a pleased expression crossed John’s face.

“ _I_  enjoy it. There aren’t a whole lot of things I enjoy, but you know, I enjoy hurting people a _lot._ ” John points the knife at their chest now. “I’ve thought about doing this to you for a long time now, you know.”

**W. R.**

“You destroyed my  _sign_.” John’s voice has taken a cruel, biting edge, and his cuts are deeper this time. “You opened my home to members of your resistance. You liberated those trigger happy idiots at Falls End. And for what? So you could play hero? So you could feel alive?”

**A. T.**

Rook is shaking in the chair, their head hanging forward, nearly touching John’s shoulder. Pain and something else. They’re whimpering and whining now, completely unable to control the noises escaping their throat. 

“You’re just fighting for the sake of fighting. You’re destroying just to tear something down.” John huffs as he finishes carving the  **H.** Regaining his composure, John runs a bloodied hand through his hair, and then places it on his hip. “But it’s _fine._  I can still save you. Do you accept what I’ve said as the truth?”

“Yes-” Rook gasps, feeling their skin tingle with sharp pain. “John- it hurts,  _fuck_ -” They’re panting, and their skin feels hot. Something else. “You’re right. Yeah, I’m a bad person. You’re right.” They close their eyes to stop the room from spinning, and they have to admit- something about this experience was cathartic, and something about it felt good. It was satisfying in a way they hadn’t experienced before. It was so far beyond any light BDSM or pain play they’d tried. They really were being punished, and it was-

_God,_  they needed to get out of Hope’s County.

John clicks his tongue. “I know I’m right.” He answers, leaning against his table. “You need this, sinner.”

Rook sits there, tied to the chair, shivering. John is watching them, and they’re distinctly made aware of the camera pointed in their direction. Would Joseph be watching this? Or was this for John’s pleasure alone? They swallow something hard and terrifying in their throat. Something that takes like desire.

“What else is there?” Rook mumbles after catching their breath. “Envy? I’m envious of- ah, shit. Sometimes I’m envious of the cultists. I wish I could believe like that, you know? I just don’t.” Panic is welling in Rook’s chest, because what are you doing? Stop talking,  _stop talking-_

John is staring at them. The smile has dropped from his face completely. “What are you doing?” He asks, and his voice is low and dangerous. His eyes narrowing, John steps closer, brandishing the knife. “Do you want me to hurt you more?”

_“Yes.”_ Rook gasps with a heave of their chest. Skin burning. Face flushing hot red with humiliation. Confessing- something  _else._  

John freezes, looking at them with wide eyes. And then, he moves, holding the knife carefully as he stands over them. “Oh.  _Oh_ , my dear. This is new.” He breathes out a laugh of disbelief, eyes raking over Rook. “You’re enjoying this…as much as I am. You’re  _sick_. Like me. Aren’t you?”

Rook feels dizzy with pain and arousal. But they couldn’t- and  _won’t_ deny it. “Yes, John.” They repeat woozily. “Just hurt me more.  _Please_.”

And John does. 

**LUST**  is next, followed by  **ENVY.**  When the **Y**  is carved into Rook’s skin, John cuts their bindings and shoves them to the ground. With bloodied hands, he drops the knife, his hands going to their throat.

“You know, I think I’m going to take you back to my house. Once we reclaim it from the sinners, that is. And I’ll  _keep_  you there, and play with you as I like.” Rook can feel his arousal pressing against their leg as John straddles them. He’s completely blocking off their air, and Rook closes their eyes, swimming in the overstimulation of their senses, growing dimmer by the second. 

…

Rook passes out. When they wake up, they’re lying in a bed in a small, unfamiliar room- their cuts have been bandaged, but their body throbs in pain. Their shirt is hanging over the back of the chair, which they’re surprised to see they’re not tied up in. Are they awake sooner than John expected? Did he think the confession had broken them to his will, absolved them of their desire to fight the cult?

“Well. That was fun.” Rook mumbles, standing. “Time to get out of this bunker.”

**Author's Note:**

> http://deputyrook.tumblr.com/


End file.
